A/N: All of these Twitter names are out of my head. If someone happens to have that name they have nothing to do with my story. My friend was cyber bullied and she was much like Bren in this chapter before she got help and now she's all happy again. Enjoy the chapter (: ~Dedicated to Alyssa
Bren's POV
I finish going through the stack of papers in less than an hour so I take an early break. I put my feet up on the side of my trash can and lean back in my chair before pulling my phone. Logging into Twitter takes a little longer than usual and my phone immediately starts vibrating non-stop. I watch my follower count grow by thousands at a time and I let out a large gasp.
I have twelve million followers and I'm only following fifty four people.
I look like a total bitch.
My feed is filled with things that Harry and I are tagged in and I smile as I scroll down. Everyone is saying nice things about me and my sense of style. I continue to scroll down before my heart stops as my eyes land on a tweet.
Narry4Life @x1dfan!1!!
@Bren_Parker ur so ugly nd pitiful i don no y harry wud evr date a nigger like u
I'm in complete and utter shock. I've never had anyone say anything so rude and belittling to me let alone a stranger. I just sit and stare at the tweet trying to comprehend what would make someone say something so mean. When I finally pull myself away from it I scroll down and see that there are many more. I feel like pulling myself into a ball and crawling into the corner.
They hate me.
After work I head back home and once again I'm surrounded by people but I can't feel all the love because the hate is still haunting my mind. When I enter the tiny apartment Harry is there on the couch watching Alan Carr.
"Hey, how was your day?" he asks when I shut the door behind me.
"It was okay," I lie trying not to break down into a fit of tears.
He turns down the TV so he can hear my voice better.
"I'm going to go get some sleep," I add hurriedly so he won't ask questions.
"Okay, goodnight," he says and I nod at him before heading back into my bedroom.
I pull my cover over my head and get on Twitter underneath the covers. Even though I don't want to know what people are saying about me I feel like I need to know.
1dsoson5pancakes @lilpxxcx
harry? with a black girl? lol he's more of a blonde type. this has to be a joke or something.
As I scroll down my heart is repeatedly smashed into pieces. For every three nice comments there is one mean comment but it hurts more than those feel good.
Harry leaves early the next morning when there aren't that many fans outside but I'm still on my phone by then. It's so early it's still dark outside and I feel my eyes drooping as they crave sleep. I let myself drift off but I still feel a heavy weight on my heart.
For the next week I find myself addicted to social media. On every I post I get thousands of likes almost instantly and I feel so admired. However, when I allow myself to read the comments it's like torture. Everyone is either really nice and supportive or really rude and hurtful. There is no in between.
Although I can deal with all of the mean comments I still can't deal with the fact that what they're saying hurts me because I let it. I scroll down my feed for what feels like the thousandth time this week and stop when I see one comment.
OTRA TOUR @weirdtommoxx
@Bren_Parker Bitch, you don't even fucking deserve to be in the same fucking room as Harry or any of the boys. You need to take your ass back to LA you aren't worthy of Harry. The whole fandom hates you and Harry is going to move on sooner or later so you can just do the world a favor and kill yourself.
I sit up on the couch and read it over and over again repeating each word in my head. A drop of liquid lands on my screen and I wipe it off before I realize that I'm crying.
That's it.
I stand up from the couch and head to my bathroom. There is a razor sitting on the counter and I take the blade out before taking a deep breath.
I feel numb. Completely numb.
I twirl the blade around between my fingers causing it to prick my index. A little dot of red appears before I wipe it away.
I feel weird. Detached. I feel like I'm watching my life from an outside view rather than living it myself. Nothing around me feels real and neither do I; so when I glide the blade down my wrist the pain doesn't either.
I watch the blood flow slowly out of my wrist and land on the tile floor in fascination. With each drop I feel myself getting more relaxed. I slice another gash and another and another until my wrist looks nothing like the other. Red lines going across and up and down highlight my wrist and I see an abstract piece of art for a second before reality starts to rush in.
"Brendalyn?" I hear Harry call from outside of the bathroom.
Shit.
I reach to lock the door with my right hand but as I extend it the cuts start to burn. I grasp my hand to try to make the pain stop which only makes it worse.
The door open and hits the side of my leg and I immediately sigh in defeat.
